


such a good boy

by rory_kent



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bondage, Collars, Dom John Watson, Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Pet, Ownership, Praise Kink, Puppy Play, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Submission, Subspace, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_kent/pseuds/rory_kent
Summary: Sherlock has never needed anything as much as he needs John Watson, to be owned and loved and to submit. John is happy to oblige.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 115





	1. collared

**Author's Note:**

> hiya! not my usual cup of tea, but I hope you like it <3
> 
> this takes place mid s2

Sherlock really didn’t know how to take care of himself. _It’s just transport._ Eating? Sleeping? Pedestrian and boring and if he was honest, he sometimes just forgot. John always remembered. Sherlock’s stomach turned as he lay on the sofa, his mind racing, heart thumping in his chest. Moriarty had called John his pet. _Pet._ But, wasn’t it the other way around? The woman, she had been closer. _Beg for mercy._ Sherlock clenched his eyes closed and tried to push this down. Stupid, stupid, human needs. Human. _John._ He leapt up and began to pace. _John._

He raced up the stairs and into his flatmates room, neat and tidy and it smelled like John. Like wool and whiskey and pine and marmalade. He wasn’t supposed to be in here, John would be stroppy. Sherlock did not like it when John was angry, upset, sad, it all was wrong, wrong that the greatest man alive should be angry. But he needed to be in here, just until John came back. His eyes flickered around John’s possessions. Photographs of John in his uniform on the side table. Jumpers lined up in the closet. A box under the bed. Sherlock bit his lip, glancing over his shoulder before kneeling and pulling the box out and opening it. 

Sherlock gasped, eyes wide as he pulled out a dark leather collar, fit for a large dog or a person. The buckle was silver and the leather was worn. Sherlock sniffed the inside, it smelled like women’s perfume, hints of men’s deodorant as well. Not John’s. Someone (someones) else wore this. Sherlock was trembling as he ran his fingers over it, the implications overwhelming. He tentatively put it around his neck, testing it. It fit on the third buckle, but his stomach churned at the idea of putting it on himself. This was John’s collar. Not something to be taken lightly.

Sherlock placed it gently on top of the bed, looking into the box. Matching leather cuffs, a Scottish tawse, a riding crop, lengths of rope. Sherlock bit his lip. This was a sexual thing. He really should have deduced this hobby by now, but the idea of John sexually was one he had hidden deep down in his mind palace, locked behind a steel door to keep it from escaping. A subject to be avoided at all cost, risk he make a mistake and ruin everything. He was always ruining things.

Sherlock closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He had never wanted this before, but at this moment his whole body was thrumming with deep and soul-penetrating _need._

John huffed as he pounded up the stairs, arms laden with shopping. He stopped in his tracks at the sight in the sitting room. His flatmate was kneeling, head pointed down, curly fringe brushing against his eyes, clenching a black leather collar in his fists. He didn’t look up when John came in, his eyes fixed on the floor, shoulders held back, posture perfect. John’s cock stirred and he swallowed, setting the shopping down and putting his hands on his hips. Sherlock holding his collar, knelt perfectly at his feet was a stimulating thing to come home to.

“Going through my things again?” Sherlock quivered and craned his head further down, his neck bare and exposed to John.

“I’m sorry, sir.” John shuddered, he’d never heard Sherlock call anybody sir. It was a delicious word in that deep velvety baritone.

“Sherlock, why’re you doing this?” Sherlock sputtered, his eyes slowly rising to meet John’s- whole and shimmering cosmic green and blue. He bit down on his plush bottom lip, breathing hitched. He looked down quickly, his cheeks flushing red. He held up the collar, head down, lifting it to John.

“I-I uh,” Sherlock’s voice was soft, choked with emotion, and it made John uneasy to see him like this. “I want this, sir, I want to be yours.” John’s eyebrows raised and he took the collar from Sherlock, skimming over the leather, jingling on the tag. It still had his last subs name engraved on it, his contact info on the back. 

“Sherlock, I don’t know about this,” John sat in his chair, but Sherlock did not move. “Look at me, Sherlock.” The younger man obeyed instantly, eyes deep and sorrowful. John cleared his throat, “look, Sherlock, I don’t take this lightly, you’re not like the others,” 

“But I am sir! I can be! I can be anything, sir, please,” Sherlock cried and John tutted.

“Shut up, Sherlock.” His voice was harsher than he intended, and Sherlock’s heart sank. “If I was to collar you Sherlock, it would be serious. My other subs have been flings, but you are not like that. You’d be mine, completely and entirely, I could not do this part way. Not with you.” John swallowed, his own heart heavy and solemn. How he had dreamed of this, he would not mess it up. 

“Please John,” Sherlock whispered desperately, eyes glossy and cheeks still a bright crimson. “Let me show you, I can obey John, I can be good.” He bent forward on his knees, placing his forehead on the ground at John’s feet, tears dripping down his face and onto the carpet. John’s fingers carded through his hair and Sherlock whimpered at the pleasant sensation. 

“Alright, Sherlock, I’ll, I’ll think about it,” The idea of collaring his flatmate and best friend was still uneasy on his stomach. Sherlock was so desperate, vulnerable, it shook John to the core. That such a beautiful and enigmatic creature would wish to submit to him, it was strange and dreamlike. John continued to pet Sherlock’s hair, fingers grazing against his nape. “Why don’t you make us some tea, alright Sherlock?” The taller man nodded furiously and scampered to the kitchen. John sighed and scrubbed his face. Not that it wasn’t unwanted. Hell, Sherlock was more than _wanted_. John’s life as a dom and his life with Sherlock were separate, and mixing them felt foreign. Sherlock’s sheer level of trust was intoxicating. Soon Sherlock returned, kneeling at John’s feet with a mug of tea, holding it out like it was worth more than him. John sighed sadly and took the tea. 

“Sherlock, why don’t you sit in your chair and let’s talk this through, can you do that for me please?” John was being so gentle with him, his natural instinct was to care for a submissive, to keep them safe in their subspace, which was clearly where Sherlock was floating now. Sherlock slowly sat in his leather chair, leaning on the edge of it, fidgeting with his fingers. “That’s a good boy, Sherlock.” Sherlock’s face flushed and his stomach tumbled at the praise. A warmth began to spread through his body, a glowing shining pride in being _good._

“Ah, praise-kink huh?” John chuckled and Sherlock looked down embarrassedly. “No shame in that, darling, it’s all fine.” John took a deep breath, stabilizing himself to continue. “Is that what you want Sherlock, to be _my good boy_?” Sherlock nodded vigorously, eyes cast down still. “Care to elaborate?” Sherlock gulped, rubbing nervous hands down his thighs.

“Want to please you, sir, want you to care for me, keep me right, John,” Sherlock looked up beggingly, “please, I need it, sir,” A single doleful tear dribbled down and John tutted, wiping it away with his thumb. 

“I can do that, Sherlock, I would be honoured to keep you,” Sherlock let out the breath he was holding and matched John’s kind smile. John adjusted the collar in his hands. “You don’t have to wear this, Sherlock,”

“I want to, sir,” Sherlock mumbled. 

“Alright, good, that’s good. Wouldn’t want my puppy to get lost, hmm?” Sherlock was very suddenly and horribly aroused at the thought. To be owned, cherished, kept. Sherlock nodded and bit his lip. “I’ll have to get a new tag,” John unclipped the previous sub’s name and examined the collar. “Come here, boy,” John patted the inside of his thigh and Sherlock fell to his knees between John’s legs, hands on his knees, pale neck exposed, mop of curls brushing on his bleary cheeks. “This collar shows that you are _mine_ Sherlock. You belong to me and you will obey me,” John paused, placing a calming hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, feeling the shivers of his beloved beneath him. 

“I pledge myself, John, I am yours,” Sherlock placed his palms up in a gesture of surrender, “if you’ll have me, I will serve you,” John smiled and nodded kindly, running his hand through Sherlock’s curls gently. John unbuckled the collar and slipped it around Sherlock’s neck, buckling it securely in the back, tight but not too tight. He rustled his hair and planted a kiss on his forehead. 

“That’s a good boy, Sherlock,” Sherlock let his breath out, his whole body trembling with endorphins and oxytocin. He leaned his cheek against John’s knee. “You can wear my dog tags when we go out, alright pet?” Sherlock was slightly disappointed, the pride of being _John’s_ definitely something he wanted to show off, but nodded obediently. He was shivering uncontrollably, his whole body floating. John’s touch was grounding, the only thing he could cling to as his thoughts drifted from him. He was empty, so helplessly beautifully empty, his mind palace washed clean and pure. He came to in the bath, surrounded by bubbles, calming hands washing him, cleansing him of all these horrible thoughts. He shakily breathed in the scent of _John._ Soon he was wrapped in a towel, kind calloused hands pulling a shirt over his arms, putting his feet into pajamas and pulling them up. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but no words came. _John._ He was surrounded by _John._ He nestled into the covers of the bed, unsure how he got here, John’s tanned arms tight around him. 

“Sleep, Sherlock.” John ordered, placing a hand on Sherlock’s chest, right over his heart. Sherlock reached out and held that hand like a life preserver, falling asleep almost instantly.


	2. master

John was typing away at his blog when Sherlock emerged from ~~his~~ their room, curls riotous and fluffed up, eyes glowy and soft. His collar still rested on his neck, dark leather contrasting something gorgeous with his milky white skin. He didn’t sleep often, but when he did he went hard. It was 10 or so in the morning, and John smiled at him sweetly. 

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” Sherlock’s nose scrunched sillily at the name before he came to rest at John’s feet, already finding it his favourite place to be. John chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Sleep good?”

“Yes, John.” John turned from his laptop and kept a stabilizing hand on Sherlock’s cheek.

“We’re gonna have to talk this through more tonight, alright love?” 

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded, looking up at John with wide eyes, “Jawn?” John continued typing his blog, painfully pecking the keys one at a time.

“Yes, Sherlock?” 

“Can I call you Master, Jawn?” John smirked and looked down at Sherlock kindly. 

“Yes Sherlock, you may,” 

“Thank you, thank you Master,” Sherlock rubbed his cheek against John’s calf, nuzzling against John's hand that he had dropped to pet him. John giggled before tearing off a piece of his toast, giving it to Sherlock, who tucked in it without hesitation, licking every bit off John's hand, swallowing quickly. John smiled and continued until the toast was gone, ruffling Sherlock's hair and patting him gently. Sherlock rested his chin on John’s thigh, letting the sounds of John’s horrendous typing and the thrum of his heartbeat calm his mind. “May I work on my experiments, sir?” John looked down surprised at Sherlock’s manners. 

“Yes, love, you may, but I want you wearing safety gear.” Sherlock nodded and nuzzled John’s thigh. 

“Yes, Master, thank you Master,” And with that he scampered away, pulling on his dressing gown and snapping on gloves and goggles before sitting at his microscope. John couldn’t help from staring. Sherlock’s whole manner had changed seemingly overnight- this part of Sherlock had been locked away for a long time and had broken free and was relishing his freedom. The thought of it made John sad- Sherlock believed himself a freak, unloved, a sociopath. That's why he never let himself be vulnerable. But those were all lies. And he would do his best to show him that. Sherlock’s trust was his greatest gift, one that John was quite proud to have been given. Sherlock worked quietly, and John let the time slip away, turning to read his paper after a while. Sherlock’s mobile pinged and when he didn’t look up, John opened it for him. 

“Lestrade texted you, says it’s a 9 this time,” John smiled and watched his sub as he bit his lip, changing the slide he was looking at. “Sherlock? A case, love.” Sherlock looked down steadily. 

“No thank you,” John sighed sadly, getting up and walking up to Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his middle, planting a kiss on his ear. 

“Sherlock, just give it a look, think of poor Scotland Yard,” Sherlock laughed and bit his lip harder. He really did not want to go out, he was feeling so vulnerable, so sensitive, he didn’t want anyone but John. 

“I’m not feeling well, Master. May I stay home?” John let go slowly, rubbing a firm hand across his shoulders before placing his palm on his pet’s forehead. His face was full of concern. 

“You don’t have a fever, what are you feeling?” Sherlock gripped his tummy. 

“I feel like I’m inside out.” He hated these stupid human feelings that were pouring in, too many too fast. He needed something simple. Submission was simple, straightforward. He looked up at his Master, who was eyeing him carefully. “Like my nerves are on the outside sir,” He shook his head at how idiotic it sounded. But John didn’t laugh at him or sigh or glare. He ran fingers through the hair on the back of his head, twirling a curl in his fingers. 

“Sensitive, huh?” Sherlock nodded solemnly, turning to face him, pressing his back against the bench, hands folded in his lap. John smiled gently and traced his cheekbones with whisper softness. Sherlock’s whole body shuddered at the touch. John realized Sherlock’s need to submit, and walked to the center of the sitting room, pointing to the floor with his gaze. “Come here, pet,” Sherlock rushed off the chair and knelt quietly where Master had indicated. John nodded firmly. “Stay.” Sherlock’s spine trembled at his tone, his whole body remaining still as his Master went upstairs and returned. Sherlock did not look up to see what he had retrieved. His breath hitched as the black fabric came in contact with his eyes, master tying it in the back, his curly brown locks draping over the top of the blindfold. Things were already beginning to freeze, his heartbeat beginning to slow. John pulled the hem of his t-shirt up over his head, leaving Sherlock naked from the waist up. John had turned the thermostat up, he realized, as he was not chilled from the sudden exposure. He stuttered as John’s careful hands began to run all over his body, warm and callused and _strong._ John was unbelievably strong. 

“Give me a word to make it stop.”

“S-sir?” 

“Safe word Sherlock.” Sherlock shook his head dumbly, his mind slow. John touched his cheek softly. 

“S-sussex,” John hmmed appreciatively and patted Sherlock’s cheek, planting a chaste kiss on his lips. Sherlock whimpered as a length of rope was placed just below his shoulders, John tying his arms to his sides, forming a pattern up his back, more lines criss-crossing across his chest, all tied into a fulcrum at his wrists, his hands forced together tight. He squirmed, his torso completely immobilized, and he was shocked that it felt so good. To be so not in control, to know that he could not move, that John was watching him intently, admiring his handiwork. Soon John’s muscled hands began to trace along the lines of dark silk rope, checking Sherlock’s circulation and testing the tightness of each knot. Sherlock let out a breathy keen, John gently brushing through his hair. 

“Shh, that’s it, Sherlock, such a good boy,” Sherlock whimpered, “So obedient, so sweet, so brilliant,” John kissed Sherlock’s back in between the lengths of rope, his skin soft and warm. “Such a pretty little puppy,” Sherlock was petrified of his own arousal which was beginning to strain against his pants, his thin pyjamas probably revealing his secret, Sherlock wished he could see, hide himself. Sherlock closed his knees, but John slapped the inside of his thigh, forcing his legs open. John only smiled as he saw it. “Oh, you like that don’t you?” John chuckled and reached his hand down to help Sherlock with his problem, palming his erection, Sherlock whimpering and squirming, rutting against his hand. He pulled away and Sherlock almost wailed. “Shh, ask politely Sherlock.” 

“P-please! Please Master, please,” Sherlock whined, his voice cracked and ragged. 

“Good boy, using your manners,” John unbuttoned his trousers and pulled Sherlock's cock out, gripping it tightly in his hand, his pet left a muttering trembling mess. He slowly ran along his length, Sherlock’s legs trembling and fighting to stay open. His whimpers were perfection, gravely and low yet so sweet and small. John smiled as he quickened his pace, Sherlock was so hard, so desperate, his words coming to him slowly. 

“M-ast-ter, p-please,” His threw his head back, his whole body shuddering. 

“You can come, Sherlock, come for me, love,” It didn’t take much before Sherlock vision flashed white behind the blindfold, his chest seizing, his limbs frozen and his whole body convulsing as his orgasm ripped through him. He fell forward, barely in time for John to catch his shoulders and steady him, pulling him back onto his knees, reaching behind him to expertly pull the knots open. Sherlock had red marks where he had struggled against his bonds, and he crumpled into John’s arms once free, grasping for him, hair drenched in sweat, eyes pressed closed as John undid his blindfold. “You did so good, Sherlock, such a good boy, such a sweet little puppy, that’s it love, deep breaths, I’m right here,” Sherlock breathed in deep, obediently, eyes still shut tight. John pet his nape firmly until Sherlock was settled enough to look up, eyes calm and shimmering blue. 

“Feeling better, baby?” John said softly, tucking a lock of chocolate curls behind his ear. Sherlock nodded. 

“Yes, Jawn, much better.” John smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a chain of metal with his dog tags dangling at the bottom. He unbuckled Sherlock’s collar, ignoring the whine at the absence and sliping the tags over Sherlock’s head, the cool metal resting on his chest. 

“Get dressed, Sherlock, we’ve got a case.” Sherlock smiled and scampered off to his room. John sat back on his heels, satisfied. Happy to take care of his puppy. After about a minute he sighed and made his way to their room, planting hands on his hips as Sherlock stared down his dresser drawer. “Need some help?” Sherlock’s head spun around and he nodded. John stood behind him and picked out his trousers, turning to the bureau and pulling out his purple button down and a black suit jacket. Sherlock quickly got dressed with the offered kit. He stood in front of John once he was dressed, presenting himself with his arms open slightly, eyes searching John’s for approval. John chuckled and nodded, pointing with his eyes to the door. 

“Get on with it, baby, murderers to catch,” Sherlock smiled and nodded. 

“Quite right, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! I'd really appreciate suggestions of where to go from here! <3 *kisses*


	3. brother mine

“Sherlock?” John called as he came up the stairs, fresh from the surgery. He peeled off his coat and scrubbed his face as he came into the flat. “Sherlock, I’m home boy,” John bit his tongue, face to face with two Holmes instead of one. Sherlock was pitzing on his violin, glaring daggers at his brother. 

“Ah, hello doctor Watson, as ever your timing is model as I was just discussing this new  _ arrangement  _ of yours with my brother here.” Mycroft pointed with the tip of his umbrella to the collar on Sherlock’s neck. “Always thought you were the loyal companion in this relationship.” John clenched his fist, teeth grinding and matching Sherlock’s glare at his brother. 

“How the hell is any of this your business, Mycroft?” John stepped forward, arms crossed, his dominance pulsing through his veins. The chubby man only grinned evilly, eyeing his brother. 

“Ah, the soldier, is that it, brother mine?” Mycroft chided, Sherlock’s cheeks flushing even darker crimson, his eyes clenching shut. John would not tolerate this one more second. Not from anyone, not even Mycroft. 

“That’s it, Mycroft, you’ve had your fun, now get out of my flat and step away from Sherlock.” John grabbed Mycroft’s coat from the back of the sofa and handed it over to him, gaze level and strong. “So nice to have you over,” Mycroft only rolled his eyes, taking his coat from John, standing and moving towards the door. 

“No idea what you see in him, brother, a crippled little-”

“ENOUGH!” Sherlock leapt to his feet and punched his brother square in the nose. He tackled him to the floor, pinning his arms down with his knees, hands gripping around his neck, “YOU WILL NOT SPEAK OF JOHN THIS WAY!” 

“Sherlock!” John exclaimed. He grabbed Sherlock by his collar, pulling him off of a stunned Mycroft, pushing him back towards his chair. Sherlock’s eyes were wild, flickering with loathing. But he did as John had instructed, sitting tensely back in his chair, watching his fat excuse for a brother get to his feet and wipe the blood off his nose. “Leave Mycroft, now, or I won’t hold him back next time,” Mycroft huffed and turned quickly down the stairs. John let out his breath once he was gone, running a hand through his hair. He turned to his sub, who was shivering with something between anger and shame and embarrassment. His eyes were pointed down to the floor, his knees pressed against his chest, curled in on himself. 

“Are you alright?” John took a knee next to Sherlock’s chair, looking him on evenly. He unwrapped Sherlock’s arms, pressing gently on his wrists. Sherlock’s eyes were brimming with tears, his lip quivering. He shook his head quickly, eyes still fixed on the floor. 

“I’m s-sorry, Master,” He whimpered, “I shouldn’t have l-lost my t-temper,” John smiled knowingly and ran his fingers through his hair softly. 

“You had a reason to be angry, love, Mycroft was not being very nice,” John caressed his forehead gently, “I was a bit angry too.” 

“But- but I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that,” Sherlock did not like John’s face being so level with his own, he wanted to fall to the floor and bow to his master, show him he was sorry. But John gripped him tightly, keeping him where he was. “Aren’t you going to punish me sir?” Sherlock ducked his head further down, wishing John would get it over with. John only smiled sadly. 

“I’m not angry with you, Sherlock,” John continued to pet him, stroking over those perfect curls. Sherlock shook his head, this was a trick! It had to be, he had misbehaved, there were consequences, why was John testing him like this?

“Please, John, please, punish me so I may serve you better,” Sherlock sobbed, longing to find his way to his knees. He squirmed in his masters grip, tears pouring down his cheeks. John sighed. Sherlock’s self reproach was punishment enough as far as he could see, but his poor pet was desperate to earn John’s forgiveness. 

“Alright, Sherlock, up you get,” John stood and patted Sherlock’s shoulder. He immediately fell to his knees beside the chair, the sound echoing through the flat. The impact stung, but Sherlock wanted to feel pain, to punish himself. “Hands out Sherlock,” Sherlock quickly turned his palms out and presented them. John tutted, turning his subs hands over and examining his bleeding knuckles. “Stay,” John fetched the med kit, pulling out antiseptic and some wrap. Sherlock didn’t look up to watch but bit his lip harshly at the stinging pain. John wrapped the bandages around his hands tightly, placing a kiss on each fist. 

“You’re forgiven, Sherlock,” He said with a smile, “that’s my good boy,” Sherlock looked up in disbelief, unsure whether to speak or not. John kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair. Sherlock’s eyes were wide and flickering green as he watched John go into the kitchen as if nothing had happened and turn on the kettle. Sherlock shakily raised himself off his knees, stunned silent. What kind of punishment was that? 

“Master?” He asked, looking down incredulously at his bandaged knuckles. 

“Yes, Sherlock?” John hummed as he pulled out two mugs from the cupboard, plopping in the bags of tea. 

“Master, was that my punishment?” 

“Yes Sherlock.” John chuckled. 

“Why master?” Sherlock cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy, holding his hands out as evidence to this confusion. John only looked at him sweetly, smiling. 

“Because I don’t like it when you decide to punish yourself, Sherlock. That’s my job, and your safety and wellness are my responsibility, not yours. I decide what you need.” Sherlock’s face flushed in shame as realization dawned on him. He had been so insubordinate to ask John for punishment. Stupid,  _ stupid _ Sherlock. “Do you want milk in your tea, darling?” Sherlock nodded solemnly, tracing an outline with the toe of his shoe. “Sherlock…” John’s voice had a warning tone and Sherlock looked up immediately. “Words, please.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir, yes I’d like milk please.” John nodded with a smile and fixed his cuppa. He placed it in Sherlock’s hands, the warmth shuddering through his fingers. Sherlock looked down at the steamy liquid. “I’m sorry I did that, sir,” John put a finger under his chin and tipped it up to look at him. 

“I said you were forgiven, Sherlock, can I trust you to listen to what I say?” Sherlock nodded vigorously, “Alright, now drink that and I’ll order dinner.” Sherlock drank the tea down quickly as John called for takeaway. John sat at the desk and began scrolling through his computer. Sherlock shyly crawled across the living room, trying not to look at John’s reaction, and curled up at his master’s feet, resting his cheek on his shoe. John giggled and leaned down, petting through his curls, his pet butting his head up into the touch. “What a good puppy, Sherlock, such a good boy,” Sherlock closed his eyes happily, nuzzling against his calf, plopping his head back down content. John smiled and continued his work, happy to let Sherlock rest, his boy quickly falling lightly asleep, sweet little snores coming from beneath the tabletop. John smiled, what a good puppy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aww silly Sherlock...thanks for reading cuties! <3 comments and suggestions always appreciated


	4. taking care

John Watson was a good man. A doctor, a healer. But sometimes he got angry. Really angry. Had a bit of a temper actually. All through school he’d been in fights- sometimes to defend Harry, sometimes just for the thrill. The thrill of the blood that caked on his knuckles, the feeling of destruction beneath his fists. It was intoxicating. He controlled it well- learning to be a doctor, joining the army, saving lives with his SIG by his side and the sun on his skin. He exerted command, he demanded respect. Mycroft was a right arse- but he’d been right once,  _ you’re not haunted by the war, you miss it. _ Solving crimes and chasing serial killers, shooting cabbies and gangsters- it was a vigilante superhero life with Sherlock. But sometimes, sometimes he needed more. He needed to control- to own and to dominate and to unleash this destruction that burned in his chest. 

His first had been a cute little thing- met her at a pub, gone back to her place, same old routine. Then, she’d been the one to introduce him to this lifestyle, begging him to tie her up before they shagged. He hadn’t meant to love it. But her trust, the power dynamics of being completely in control of someone, it was addictive. Pounding into her, leaving her marked and trembling and sated with pain...why had it felt so damn good? He’d invested in his own equipment for this  _ hobby _ of his. Websites argued about collar etiquette- whether it was better to have one collar for each partner or to only have one. He liked the idea of one collar for all of them- just another game to play.  _ This collar isn’t yours, because you own nothing about this- you’re mine. I own this collar, I own you.  _

His second was a man. It didn’t last long at all. He was a good sub, pliant and sweet. He had dark hair and light eyes, and even though his skin was a carmely brown, he was too much like Sherlock- everytime his midnight curls drenched in sweat or his pale grey eyes widened at the pull of a gag- he thought of Sherlock. He dreamed of Sherlock. So John ended it curtly and vowed to stick to the opposite gender- to leave that space sacred. 

There had been a few more- some feisty and purposefully disobedient, gluttons for punishments- others meek and childlike, calling him  _ daddy _ during the moment of eclipse. Sherlock was nothing like them. Sherlock was a supplicant- a worshiper at his feet, a pet-not a plaything. The moment Sherlock had asked him for his collar, that was a memory that he held in a place of honor- a little spotlight shining in his mind. 

They were in the middle of a session- Sherlock had just solved a tough one but was resisting his post case sleep of the dead, and John was giving a bit of a treat to soothe his mind. Sherlock was trussed up on the floor in front of their full length mirror- blindfolded, wrists bound to his ankles, thighs and calves pressed together, sitting on his heels. John licked his lips, appreciating the view for a moment before running the crop across his back delicately. Sherlock whimpered and squirmed at the sensation. 

“You should see yourself, Sherlock, so helpless, so desperate for it, you’re a bloody mess,” John whispered the words hot in his ear, slipping the blindfold off Sherlock’s ears, and his eyes fluttered open, pupils dilating and then flaring to adjust to the dimly lit room. There were glowing candles around the base of the mirror, and Sherlock watched his reflection with hazy focus- his hair was ruffled, his skin flushed and his lips swollen, bitten and darkened red. “Like what you see, huh boy?” Sherlock shivered and nodded slowly, his head only barely moving, his eyes fixed on John’s reflection. John brought the crop down with a slap. “You’re  _ mine  _ Sherlock, all mine,” he snapped his wrist and brought the crop down again and again, rubbing the tip over each nipple, flicking them about before clapping down on them as well, Sherlock keening and moaning. “a virgin, a pure and holy sacrifice, waiting for me to defile you, to burn,” The words had just sort of happened, but the air around them changed instantly, This was personal for John, to protect and to care for, to break and to put back together, it was part of his nature. But Sherlock, poor Sherlock, this was more than that- this was spiritual- the closest he had ever come to church or religion or any of it, this was all of it. 

They finished not long after that, Sherlock putting those pretty lips to good use, collapsing at John’s feet once he swallowed it all gratefully, John rubbing lotion into the crop marks, Sherlock tucked into bed before the day was done. John rubbed Sherlock’s forehead gently, sweetly, admiring his sweet pet as he slept. Sherlock resisted sleep with everything he had- and it wasn’t hard to guess why. His brain was already wild when he was awake, but to shut off the controls and let his subconscious take over? Well, that was a dangerous proposition for Sherlock, one that John adamantly assured him of. John was always here, always watching over him, his captain and his owner to protect him when he couldn't protect himself. John smiled and planted a kiss on his snoozing detective and got up to tidy a bit and have a cuppa. 

* * *

“Jawn?” Sherlock yawned as John sat on his bedside, a solid eleven hours later, a tray of food in his arms. John gave him a dominant stare and a sweet smile. 

“Up, baby, you need to eat.” Sherlock sat up sleepily, rubbing his eyes and yawning. 

“I’m not hungry, Master,” Sherlock mumbled, glaring at the offered sustenance. John laughed, a sarcastic biting laugh that sent shivers through Sherlock. 

“I didn’t ask if you were hungry,” John pressed the fork into Sherlock’s hand, “I said you need to eat. And you will.” Sherlock’s stomach churned at the smell of it- plain buttered pasta with little tomatoes on top. The thought of consuming it appalled him, and he sleepily did not wish to obey this command. 

“I’m not hungry, Jawn!” He threw the fork across the room and glared at the food some more. The room fell deathly silent, Sherlock’s eyes watering guiltily as he stared out at the space he had thrown the utensil, swallowing fearfully at the splitting calm. John didn’t say a word at first, eyebrows raised high in shock. 

“Sherlock.” He harshly whispered, the word acting as an admonishment and a command all at once. Sherlock whimpered and let a tear fall. Sleep made him so much more emotional, he despised it. His control of himself was fading the more he did this, the more he let John in, his facade was cracking and he was suddenly very afraid. “I think you’ve just lost silverware privileges, puppy, now get up and go to the kitchen, it’s dinner time.” Sherlock looked down shamefully and went to walk before John clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Crawl, sherlock.”

* * *

Sherlock’s heart practically stopped. John had taken his plate and replaced his food into this- the porcelain dog bowl that sat on the floor of the kitchen, his name printed across the side. He didn’t really expect Sherlock to...Sherlock eyed John, who had lost interest and was flipping through the paper. “Eat, Sherlock. Now, or there’ll be consequences.” Sherlock whimpered, words beyond him as he stared down the pasta. His eyes flickered between John and the bowl, shuffling on his knees uncomfortable before bending down on all fours, picking up a noodle with his teeth and swallowing it. “That’s it Sherlock,” John didn’t even look away from his paper, and Sherlock was blushing terribly- his heartbeat whooshing in his ears as he took another timid bite, and another, swallowing the penne whole, his stomach now begging him to continue, “Chew thoroughly before you swallow, puppy, you’ll make yourself sick like that.” John’s attention, John’s criticism of his very eating was soul-shattering, splitting him open, vulnerable and quickly deep in his subspace, nuzzling into his bowl ravenously. John set down his paper and approached him from behind, ruffling his hair as he tucked in. 

“Good boy, Sherlock,” Sherlock lapped at the bowl when the pasta was gone, his whole body glowing with the praise, “see? that wasn’t so bad,” John smiled and knelt next to Sherlock, petting his nape. Sherlock almost purred, turning to look up at John with eyes of pure love. He tackled John in a snuggle, pressing his nose into John’s neck, the good doctor erupting in laughter. “Down, Sherlock, down boy,” Sherlock obeyed, cautiously licking John’s neck before settling back onto his heels. John grinned, going back to the sitting room and turning the telly on. He pat the sofa next to him and Sherlock crawled excitedly across the sitting room, which was just a little bit tortuous on his scraped knees, and hopped up next to John, plopping his nest of curls in his lap. John giggled and ran his fingers through his hair, not really thinking about it. Sherlock found this his favorite place of worship- to be the last thing on John’s mind, a source of comfort to his Master, knowing he is safe when his Master is nearby. Yes, this was just how things should be, this was perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your support! <3 comments and feedback are awfully appreciated, *kisses*


	5. bad puppy

“Detective Inspector, really, this is a new low even for you,” Sherlock snapped as he took in the crime scene. The dead woman was splayed on her back, with clear signs of strangulation around her neck. Sherlock sniffed the air- men’s cologne, but no bottle of it in the bathroom and no signs of a man living here. Window latch, broken, recently, pane tipped open wide enough for a medium sized man to crawl through. Lestrade eyed him sharply and crossed his arms. 

“The intruder didn’t take anything,” Lestrade argued, “It wasn’t a break-in,” Sherlock rolled his eyes and pressed fingers to his temples.

“Oh, yes and every tresspasser _must_ be a thief- couldn’t possibly just be a dull murder, Lestrade?” Sherlock snapped off his gloves in a huff, his mind whirring. John must’ve forced Lestrade to give him a case, _any_ case. Sherlock glared over at this flatmate. 

“Sherlock, why don’t you just help Lestrade figure out who did it, alright?” John’s level and encouraging voice offered, somewhat confused as to Sherlock’s glare.

“Oh, _shut up_ , it’s not important, you’re all idiots, this case is moronic even for you lot. None of this is important,” Sherlock grumbled and John raised his eyebrows dangerously. 

“Greg, could you give us a minute?” John smiled at Lestrade kindly, and the older man nodded and left the room, the door swinging closed. John’s smile instantly disappeared when the door shut, eyes wide and hands on hips. He didn’t need to say a thing- no admonishment, no reprove. Only the cold, hard glare of a Dominant, eyes swirling a blue so dark they looked black. Sherlock shivered- his legs wobbly beneath him under John’s harsh look. He dropped to his knees before John with a thud, wincing and averting his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I shouldn’t have sai-” John cut him off with a firm grip on his chin, pulling him up and examining his eyes. 

“I don’t think you are sorry, Sherlock.” John tsked, “and you were doing so good, boy, I thought we had made progress,” John sighed, the disappointment in his voice slicing through Sherlock’s heart like a razor. He had let his Master down. Again. He was horrible. “Get up, boy, we’re going home. You’ve embarrassed me, you’re lucky I don’t teach you a lesson right here, right now in front of everyone” Sherlock whimpered, eyes dripping with silent tears as he stood, eyes down. John pulled open the door for him and watched crossly as his sub exited, head down, wiping his nose with his sleeve. Out in the hall, Lestrade’s mouth hung open and looked at John incredulously.

“He alright?” He nodded towards Sherlock, who swiftly made his way outside, wrapped up tight in his coat. 

“He’ll be fine. Actually Lestrade, if you’re not busy, you should come over to Baker Street tomorrow, I have a feeling Sherlock will want to apologize by then.” Lestrade cocked his head inquisitively.

“What? Why?” John gave him a look and Lestrade’s eyebrows went higher than before thought possible- “Oh,”

“See you later, Greg,” John said warmly as he put on his jacket and headed out into the rain. 

* * *

Sherlock practically leaped out of the car as the cab pulled up to 221b. John paid the driver as Sherlock waited for him on the steps. John pulled out his keys and pushed open the door before gripping Sherlock by the forearm, pulling him down to growl into his ear.

“Shower and be waiting upstairs, you have 5 minutes.” John said cooly, not a slip of emotion in his voice- which devastated Sherlock. He obeyed quickly, taking the stairs two at a time as Master went to chat with Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock stripped quickly, balling up his clothes and throwing them in the direction of the basket before jumping into the shower. John's dog tags dangled off his neck as he turned the taps. Sherlock cried out, white spots in his eyes as the scalding hot water slashed at his back. He grit his teeth together and scrubbed harshly at his skin. He was dirty, disobedient, he deserved whatever pain came his way. 

Sherlock barely was dry before he heard footfalls on the stairs. He rushed to the sitting room, falling to his knees immediately, hands resting on the back of his nape, twiddling with the small beaded chain that rest there. John tossed his keys onto the bench, ignoring Sherlock entirely. It was a terrible feeling to be ignored. Worse than John's anger or disappointment- yes, Sherlock decided this was the worst of it- to be nothing. Sherlock's eyes welled with tears that choked at the back of his throat, his lips tightening. He swallowed. He would not cry. He would be good, he would take anything his Master gave him with gratitude. 

John slowly walked towards the sitting room, each step sending a shiver through his naked sub. John licked his lips, silently admiring his milky white back, still a bit damp from the shower, his half-dry curls falling in tight ringlets around his ears. He was beautiful like this, no matter how stroppy or rude, Sherlock would always submit. Sherlock was _John's._ Completely and entirely. John sipped at his freshly poured whiskey, setting it on the side table by his arm chair before approaching. He circled Sherlock like a predator stalking it's prey. He loved him, hopelessly, but Sherlock's blatant disrespect at the crime scene was unacceptable. John knelt down in front of Sherlock, lifting his chin and examining his teary ice blue eyes. He pulled his dogtags off of Sherlock, slipping them into his pocket, wrapping his sturdy leather collar around in their absence. He fastened the collar a bit tighter than necessary, enjoying Sherlock's stutter at the slight pressure. 

"Do you understand why I have to do this, Sherlock?" John cocked his head, his face emotionless, his Captain's Voice in full affect, low and dangerous. He slowly undid his belt, pulling it off loop by loop, Sherlock's lip quivering at the rattle of the buckle. 

"Yes," Sherlock's voice was shaky and John pinched his ear, dragging him forward a bit and raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge. Sherlock stuttered and corrected himself, "-sir! Yes, sir! I understand, Master," Sherlock's voice was soft and pitiful but John wasn't having it. Not today.

"Good because I don't wanna hear another noise from you unless it's your safe word, are we clear?" John tutted and circled Sherlock again, the submissive bowing his head back down, eyes locked on the patterns of the rug. He nodded solemnly.

"Good. Over the coffee table, boy," Sherlock looked up, eyes wide and pleading. John glared, "now. I will not ask again." Sherlock quickly, but hesitantly, crawled to the coffee table, kneeling, unsure what to do. John huffed, grabbing one of the D-rings of his collar and dragging him over the top, pushing his shoulders down onto the tabletop. He wrapped a firm hand around each wrist, placing each hand on a corner of the table. Sherlock's arse was perfectly exposed as he bent forward, knees digging into the carpet. His ears and neck were glowing scarlet with blush at the humiliatingly exposed position. He whined as Master slapped the inside of his thighs, forcing him to open his knees even further. John growled dangerously.

"I _said_ not. a. sound." Sherlock bit his lip and John stood over him, folding his belt in two. "You need to learn your lesson, Sherlock. High time you knew who is the Master and who is the puppy- who begs me for my cock and eats from my hand, hm?" Sherlock did not answer, heeding his admonishment and tucking his forehead down against the cool wood of the coffee table, gripping tight, expectant for the impending blow. John only rubbed a callused, warm hand across his lower back, whispering low and thunderous, "I think it's time we were clear who humiliates whom." Sherlock shuddered, barely suppressing a whimper. 

_SLAP!_

An involuntary breathy cry erupted out of Sherlock's nose as the belt found it's target, a fiery current running down every nerve ending in his body.

_SLAP! SLAP!_

after the first 5 strokes, Sherlock's tears fell free, his whole being split as he bit down on his lip harshly, a dribble of blood running down his chin. _too much, it's too much._

_SLAP!_

"You _will_ respect me, boy," 

_SLAP!_

"Or maybe," John leaned forward, twiddling the tag of Sherlock's collar in his fingers. "Maybe you don't deserve to wear this." 

That did it. Sherlock couldn't hold back his sobs, waves of agony that rolled through him, knuckles turning white, eyes clenched shut, tears running in rivers down his cheeks. He needed to be quiet, _shut up Sherlock, SHUT UP!_ He bit down on his already bloody lip, the pulse of his heartbeat thudding under his teeth. 

"Sherlock?" Master's voice was dripping with concern, running fingers through Sherlock's curls as Sherlock keened. "Colour, Sherlock, _now_."

"red!" Sherlock whispered, still shaking, fingers locked in his grip of the table edge, arse throbbing, belt marks darkening crimson, faintly purple. John immediately dropped his belt, Sherlock trembling at the clatter of the buckle on the floor. John knelt next to Sherlock, carding through his hair gently, lulling sweetly. 

"That's it, love, deep breaths, in, that's it, out, you've got it, sweetheart. Good puppy, that's a good boy, colouring so brave for me, Sherlock, _good boy,_ " John pet him gently as Sherlock began to calm. John salved Sherlock's smacks softly. His eyes widened as he glanced Sherlock's bloody chin and his brows furrowed. "You're bleeding!" He stated obviously, gripping Sherlock's chin and turning his head, gently examining his split lip. He stood and quickly fetched his medkit, patting his knee as he sat in his arm chair. "come here, sweetheart," He smiled sweetly, voice strong and gentle. Sherlock took a stuttering breath and let go of the table, crawling slowly and ashamedly to his Master's feet. 

"Please, sir, please, I can be worthy, I can be worthy, sir, please, I'm so sorry, _so_ sorry, please don't leave me, Master, please," Sherlock's pitiful blubbering of apologies cut John to the core. No matter how John disciplined Sherlock, Sherlock's punishment for himself was always worse. Sherlock bowed his head to the floor, nuzzling his master's shoes, lapping at the polished leather, cleaning them of specks of North London mud. If he was in any fit state he could deduce exactly where, but instead he washed his shoes with tears, being extra cautious to lap away the blood that dribbled on them.

"Sherlock! Stop that!" John nudged Sherlock with his foot and pointing to the detective's own chair. "Please sit so I can fix up that lip, love," Sherlock whimpered and obeyed, sitting on the edge of his chair, longing to be back on his knees for his Master. John smiled and gave him a pleased grin before wiping the blood from Sherlock's face, dabbing a cotton ball of antiseptic on the wound which was beginning to close on it's own. "Thank goodness you don't need stitches, silly boy, you should have told me!" John tutted, a loving smile still shone in his eyes. 

"I'm sorry, Master," Sherlock whispered, eyes averted, lip stinging. Not enough, he thought. Clearly it wasn't enough if he never learned his lesson!

"You're forgiven, Sherlock, punishment is over," John paused, fluffing Sherlock's hair a bit. The submissive sniffled and butted his head into the touch. John pointed with a nod to the bedroom. "Go on, pup, you need to rest now." Sherlock looked up, eyes drying, nose running a bit. 

"Master?" Sherlock paused, swallowing nervousness.

"Yes, Sherlock?" 

"Um, can I ask, urm, could you, I mean, may we," Sherlock twiddled his fingers, "snuggle, sir? please?" John chuckled and nodded.

"Yes, Sherlock, of course. You can always ask for _that_." John smiled and Sherlock scampered behind him towards their room. He slipped a large t-shirt over Sherlock's bony frame before he held open his arms. Sherlock crawled into them happily, nuzzling into John's neck content, folding into him, a gangly little spoon, that would normally have been quite awkward, but Sherlock didn't mind. He paused, biting down on his injured lip before immediately stopping, the pain a sharp reminder of his mistakes.

"Sorry I coloured out, Master, I- I wasn't trying to, _cheat_ " Sherlock mumbled into John's ear and John sighed, shaking his head.

"No, Sherlock, we don't appologize for safewords. You know that. Now sleep, baby, Doctor's orders." Sherlock nodded softly, already nodding off a bit. 

"I love you, Master,"

"I love you too, pet, now _sleep."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! I adore all of your sweet comments and suggestions!!!


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